


Minor Emergencies

by thattardiskey



Series: When Our Mortal Bodies Fail Us [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Modern AU, One Shot, Pre-Slash, Series, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 09:12:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thattardiskey/pseuds/thattardiskey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bard said "anything you need" he assumed "anything" would wait until an hour more decent than 3 am. </p><p>Based off the prompt "Meeting the new neighbor for the first time when they need a ride to the ER."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minor Emergencies

**Author's Note:**

> Best read after "So a Moving Van (Almost) Hits a Handyman" but can be read as a stand alone rather easily.
> 
> As said before based off the prompt "Meeting the new neighbor for the first time when they need a ride to the ER." It didn't say exactly that, but I can't find the original prompt. 
> 
> Please forgive or alert me to any spelling or grammar errors. I don't have a beta reader and due to a recent surgery wrote, edited and posted this while on "the good painkillers."

Bard typically had no problem sleeping. With three kids and a job that had him climbing on roofs and moving anything from a ceiling fan to a hot tub, he would often fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, sometimes before. Sigrid waking him up from where he had fallen asleep at the kitchen table or on the couch at 2 am and sending him off to bed was not an unusual occurrence.

That Saturday evening – Sunday morning, at that point – was different. Bard had spent the night tossing and turning and couldn’t fall asleep. His body was exhausted and sleep heavy, but his mind was still wide awake.

Therefore, he didn’t mind when his phone rang at 3 am. At least, he didn’t mind as much as he typically would have.

“Hello?” He groaned, answering on the second ring.

“Bard?”

“Yeah, speaking.”

“I’m sorry for waking you, but I require some assistance.”

“Who’s this?” Bard didn’t mean for it to sound nearly as rude as it did.

“Thranduil, your neighbor.”

“Oh right.” He had no idea what was so important it couldn’t wait until morning. When he said anything you need he assumed it would wait until a decent hour. “What can I do for ya?”

“I’ve cut myself. Rather badly. I’m afraid I need a ride to the hospital.” That caught Bard’s attention.

“Of course! How bad is it? What happened?” He got out of bed and started looking around for clothes to wear.

“I’m going to need stitches. I’d prefer to discuss it on the way.”

“Sure! Sure! I’ll be right over. I just need to tell the kids where I’m going.” Bard grabbed the old battered hoodie that lived at the end of his bed (for nights when the draft was stronger than the heater) and looked down to sweatpants he wore. They’d do just fine.

“I understand, when can I expect you?”

“Five minutes tops.”

“I’ll see you then. Thank you.” With that Thranduil hung up.

Bard moved quickly after that. For a second, he hesitated, wondering if he should wake up all of his children or just Sigrid. In the end, he only woke Sigrid, they were all resting so peacefully that he couldn’t bare disturbing anyone he didn’t have to. Even waking just his eldest broke his heart. She was still recovering from being sick and while there were nowhere the near dozen pillows that surrounded her while she was at her worst, she still had multiple under her head. The humidifier he had dragged in for her puffed away, giving the occasional hiss.

“Sigrid,” he whispered. He knew she woke from the sound of the door, a small cough giving her away.

“Yeah?” She groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes. Bard caught a glimpse of himself in her mirror across the room. His hair stood in every direction, some of it one move from falling in his face. The tossing and turning had made it an even larger mess than usual.

“I need to run the neighbor guy to the hospital. He’ll be fine. I don’t know how long it’ll be though. Watch after Bain and Tilda, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” She replied, turning away from him.

“And I’m taking this hair tie.” He grabbed one randomly off the table by her door and pulled his hair back into it.

“Whatever.”

Bard wrote a note for his kids, letting Bain and Tilda know what he told Sigrid, and grabbed some of the gauze pads from their first aid kit and an old towel. It was an act of both kindness and of keeping the blood off his seats. Thranduil did not say where or how big this cut was. He climbed into the truck.

The good thing about how close Thranduil lived is that it was a short drive to his house. Bard didn’t even have to put the truck into drive. He was able to back directly out of his driveway and into the opposing one.

Before he could get out of his truck to head to the front door, Thranduil was walking out. Immediately, Bard knew where the cut was. The bunch of dish towels on the other man’s palm and wrist gave it away. As a result of the cut, Thranduil was unable to get the sleeves of his coat on, so it sat cape-like on his shoulders. As he walked out of the house, Bard could make out a shorter figure – likely Legolas – standing at the door. Bard leaned across the cabin of the truck, opening the door from the inside.

Thranduil climbed in with more grace than Bard or any of his children were capable of on a good day. However, it was only a secondary thought in his mind.

“Hello Bard,” Thranduil said, fighting to put on his seatbelt while leaving his hand undisturbed. “Thank you for driving me.”

“It’s-“ He was about to say not a problem, but knew how that would sound at that hour. “It’s fine. Glad to help.” He glanced back to the house. Legolas was visible in the window. “Your son can come if he wants.”

“It’s best if he doesn’t. He doesn’t do well with stitches, yet would insist on being there to watch.”

“Oh.”

“I really must thank you.”

“It’s fine.”

“I would have had to try and drive myself in had you not answered.”

“You’re welcome?”

Thranduil gave a hum, an acknowledgement of Bard’s response. It was silent after that, and Bard hoped that it wouldn’t continue to be the entire ride. He wasn’t sure if he could stand spending the next 30 minutes with only the crooning of the radio for noise. It remained silent for a while after.

“Oh,” he gave a slight noise, “I forgot! I brought this,” They were at a stoplight. It glowed red and no one else was there. He looked down, digging around the messy console. A gauze pad, still wrapped up tight and sterile, was at the top of the disarray. He held it out to Thranduil. The light turned green.

It was Thranduil’s turn to “oh.” He accepted the gauze and fumbled with it, eventually managing to place it over his wrist. Bard was able to spare a look before the gauze was placed. The cut appeared to be clean, a few inches long, and ran from the meat of his palm to the opposite end of his wrist at a slight angle. Thranduil caught the look and looked a bit at a loss about what to do with the bloody towels. He held them loosely in his hand, and put one of the untouched ones from the bundle on top of the gauze. Bard, eyes never leaving the road, opened the middle console and pulled out a plastic bag, which he handed over to Thranduil. Thranduil put the bloodied cloth inside and set it by his feet.

“I was attempting to open up a box. We haven’t completely settled yet.”

“Must have been a sharp knife.”

“Yes, I had them all sharpened the day before we left Tokyo. They only have a few months use on them.”

That caught Bard, as Thranduil had moved in less than a week ago.

“Smart.”

The silence took over again, even more unbearable this time. Bard was only able to let it stand for about 30 seconds.

“So…”

“Yes?”

Bard struggled to think of what to say. Struggled to think of what they could possibly have in common.

“What do you do for work?”

“I’m a designer.” Thranduil cleared his throat, “I’m the lead designer of Mirkwood.”

Bard had heard of Mirkwood in the way that he had heard of Armani and Coach. He knew they were big names, but not much else.

“That’s neat.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“So, why’d you move here? We’re not exactly the fashion capital of the world.”

“For inspiration. My designs influenced by nature and most of my work can be done from anywhere.”

“Cool.” Bard knew nothing about fashion. No one in his family was interested in top trends. Hell, his wife had bought her wedding dress second-hand.

“You may have seen some of them. My purses and jackets have done rather well recently.”

“Probably not,” Bard said, then realizing how it sounded, amended, “My fashion sense begins at Goodwill and ends at Walmart. Not really practical to have something nice on a job site.”

“Yes, I suppose that makes sense.”

“I’ll have to look them up sometime.”

“I could show you, perhaps.”

“That would be nice.”

The silence prevailed once more.

“Your daughter, eldest one -“ Thranduil started.

“Sigrid.”

“Yes, she was ill, correct? How is she?”

“She’s doing better. The cough will probably stay around for a while though.”

“That’s good. I wish her my best with the cough. Does she go to the local school?”

“Coastal? Yeah. You thinkin’ of sending your son…Lego-“

“Legolas. And yes, I’m considering it. I’ve heard good things about the teachers. Over 95% of them have Masters.”

Bard could not imagine a boy as rich as Legolas going to Coastal. The few upper class kids that lived in the area went to Cheverus. It was a $40,000 a year (plus donations) Catholic school. The sprawling tan brick mansion perched on a hill, standing old and resolute in the city, which was a 45 minute drive away. The distance made it more mythical and untouchable to most of the town, who wouldn’t have even be able to afford the commute.

“What does she think of it?” Thranduil asked.

“Oh, Sigrid loves it there.”

“I’ve also heard some strange things about it.”

“Like?”

Thranduil sniffed, “A lack of ethics, control over students, and oddly enough, walls.”

“That’s all true.”

“As a parent, what is your opinion on the place?” A car drove by them. It was the first one they’d seen all evening.

Bard threw back his head in laughter and when he finally spoke, mirth filled his voice.

“As a parent? The building is an old mess, the administration has no clue what they’re doing and the place can be one step above anarchy. But the teachers are good people. Bit weird. Fuckin’ geniuses. They care about the students too.” Bard shrugged and got more serious, “And as a student, it was pretty great. Wouldn’t have chosen anywhere else in the world. I mean, I hated the place at first, but Coastal grows on you. Teaches you more about people and the world than those uppity schools.” Bard remembered who he was talking to, a rich man who likely went to one of those uppity schools. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like th-“

“Don’t be. I’m asking because I want an honest opinion.” Thranduil smiled, “And those ‘uppity’ schools do tend to exist in a different world than most people do.” He looked out the window. “I don’t mean to sound childish, but how long until we arrive? My hand is starting to throb.”

“Oh…uh…5 minutes? Maybe less with the roads clear like this?”

“Good. I suppose this is one of the downfalls of living someplace…”

“Rural?”

“Yes, rural like this. You have your privacy and space, but everything is a drive away. In New York, I walked to work every morning.”

“Even in the rain?”

“Especially in the rain, Bard.” Thranduil shifted in his seat so he faced the other man more. Conviction filled his voice. “There is nothing better than a walk in the rain, except perhaps watching a thunderstorm.”

They talked about the rain, despite the fact that it was so clear that they could have counted the stars in the sky had they the time and will. Rather quickly, Bard came to talk less and Thranduil talked more. While Bard could appreciate a good rainstorm, Thranduil seemed to be in love with them.

He loved how the rain smelled and how he felt the thunder in his chest and as he talked, Bard wanted to tell him of the sea and how being out in the salt felt honest and somehow both more real and fake than anything else in his life. He wanted to explain how leaving his boat and his traps behind felt like a cardinal sin. Yet, every time he opened his mouth, another beautiful line fell from Thranduil’s lips and he felt more at peace listening than talking.

Something told Bard that had it not been the middle of the night on a deserted road, this side of Thranduil would have never exposed itself.

Eventually, they pulled into the hospital’s long driveway and rounded the winding curves. While Bard was content listening to Thranduil talk about the rain, he knew that it was only fair to inform the other man of their arrival.

“We’re here.”

Thranduil stopped talking and the passion left him. Bard wasn’t entirely sure, but it seemed like he was a bit embarrassed about the last few minutes. He shut down and returned to the Thranduil that had originally climbed in the truck.

There were only two or three other cars in the large “visitor/emergency” parking, spaced randomly within the first two rows and Bard was able to pull into a spot only 20 or so feet from the door. He’d intended to go around and help Thranduil, as his injured hand was closest to the handle, but he had moved to get out as soon as the truck was parked. Bard stepped out and caught up with him in two long strides.

“It’s late. You should go home,” Thranduil didn’t look at Bard as he spoke, instead staring straight forward.

Bard gave a careless wave, “It’s fine. You’ll need a ride home anyway.” He held the hospital door open for Thranduil, “I mean, if you want me to go, I can.”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want to inconvenience you is all.”

The conversation ended there. The assistant at the front desk called them over and Bard stood awkwardly behind Thranduil as he talked to her.

Eventually, she gave Thranduil a clipboard and instructed him to fill it out. The pair headed to the waiting room. There was a group of college boys, one holding ice to his head, seated in the middle chairs. All of them obviously drunk. Off to one side sat a woman with her arms wrapped tight around her middle. A man sat next to her, softly comforting her and rubbing light circles on her back. In the far corner, sprawling out to take up three seats, was a teenager. She appeared completely unconcerned, with a laptop balanced on her knees and her phone in hand, taking a selfie. Next to her sat a steaming cup of coffee.

Thranduil looked around for a second, and sat down the farthest away from anyone possible. The nearest person was the teenager and even she was a good 10 seats away. Her eyes flicked up to them for a second while she sipped her coffee.

Thranduil struggled to fill it out the papers he was given, his injured hand clearly his dominant one. Bard kept glancing over, wondering if it was appropriate to offer to help a stranger fill out their medical history.

“Would you like a hand?” He eventually asked, awkward smile on his face.

“Yes, that would be a great help. Thank you.” Thranduil handed the clipboard over.

While he didn’t take on the task intending to learn more about Thranduil, Bard assumed he’d learn something about the other man. He didn’t. There was nothing interesting, aside from the fact that he apparently suffered from migraines.

Thranduil did not have to wait long to be seen. The drunken college students were taken care of while they filled out the form. The one with the injured head was allowed in, but his buddies were turned away and about half the group left. The other half stayed and the occasional loud peal of laughter filled the room. The woman curled in pain was called in as Bard got up to take the clipboard back to the assistant.

It didn’t take long for Thranduil to be called after that. The nurse stumbled over his name until Thranduil corrected her.

Bard stayed behind when Thranduil was called, despite the nurse’s insistence that it was fine for him to come. He noted that while had been to this hospital many, many times in his life, he was positive that it was the shortest wait he ever had to deal with, excluding the time he was Life Flighted in because his motorcycle was T-Boned by a minivan.

The waiting room quickly became horribly boring and part of Bard wished that he hadn’t offered to stay. However, he was a man of his word and didn’t leave. He still was wide awake, for all that his body was heavy. He flipped through the glossy magazines littering the area, but none of them grabbed his attention for long. They were mostly gossip rags and recipes. He played with his phone, but tried to use it sparingly since it hadn’t fully charged before he left. He closed his eyes, not quite sleeping, but not fully awake either. Just existing.

Eventually, and Bard wasn’t sure how long it was, because seconds felt like eternities and it could have as easily been 15 minutes as an a few hours, a nurse came out. Bard thought he recognized her, but couldn’t quite place the name. They probably went to high school together.

“Mr. Bowman?” She called and looked around the room.

Bard cleared his throat and raised his hand a bit. She caught it.

“Mr. Oropherison would like to see you. Room 107.”

It took Bard a second to figure out who “Mr. Oropherison” was. A light film had begun to cloud his mind. A bit of tiredness finally began to finally creep in.

“Yeah, okay.” He got up and stretched his arms and back, hearing the satisfying pop of his back.

He then dutifully followed the nurse through the “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY” doors. She lead him through twists and turns that Bard was sure he wouldn’t remember when leaving before stopping next to a glass door. The shades were drawn. She knocked and upon receiving a “come in” opened it. Bard entered and pushed through the long curtains, revealing Thranduil. He sat up on the bed, hand properly wrapped and propped up.

“You stayed.” He said, surprised. Bard couldn’t tell if it was a question or not.

“I said I would.”

“Yes,” Thranduil smiled, it was only a quirk of one side of his mouth, but Bard caught it. “Yes, you did.”

“Do you need anything? How’s the hand?”

Thranduil lifted his gauze wrapped palm up. “I’ll live.” He said, voice dry and half-smile still on his face. “And the doctor said he wanted proof that I won’t be driving before he releases me.”

“Okay.” Bard looked around, “Where is he?”

“He has other patients, I told him I didn’t know if you were still here or not.”

“Makes sense.” He eyed the chair next to Thranduil’s bed.

“Sit.”

Bard sat, moving the thick jacket out of the way.

“So, is there anything else to the story of how that happened?” It was late enough and they had talked enough that Bard didn’t feel like he was crossing too many lines.

“It’s rather boring.” Thranduil gave a slight move of his bad hand, “I couldn’t sleep and I wanted to make a cup of chamomile. However, we haven’t unpacked the mugs yet.” Bard nodded along, “It was dark, obviously. I grabbed a knife and as I cut the tape off the box my hand was in the way.”

“Hate when stuff like that happens.” Bard sympathized, “Makes you feel like the biggest idiot.”

“I take it something similar has happened to you, then?”

“Of course, mostly the usual stuff though.”

“Mostly?”

“Well…” Bard shrugged, trying to play it off. “One time I almost cut my finger off. Just a careless accident.”

Thranduil shifted towards Bard. He hit the sore spot of his hand with a grimace. “I’d like to hear about this ‘careless accident.’”

Bard looked down at his hands. The scar, a perfect ring, resting on the last joint of his right ring finger.

“I was working a job and got behind ‘cause of the weather.” He shrugged, “Took the safety off my table saw ‘cause it slows me down and I thought hey, I’ve never gotten hurt before. Took 15 minutes to get my hand caught in the blade.” Thranduil gave a sympathy cringe. “Had to drive myself here, ‘cause I was working alone, of course, and the people that hired me went out.”

“You must have quite the pain tolerance.”

“I think it was mostly adrenaline.”

At that point, there was a knock on the door. Shortly after, the doctor stepped in. Bard quickly recognized him. He quickly recognized Bard.

“Elrond?”

“Bard?”

“It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you uninjured. How’s the hand?”

“Good.” Bard raised it, the scar barely visible from where Elrond was.

“I’m here to release Mr. Oropherison. I presume you will be driving him home?”

“Yeah, that would be me.”

“Well then, Mr. Oropherison, everything checks out. I’ll go get the paperwork, feel free to gather any belongings.” He left.

Considering that the only belongings Thranduil had brought were his winter coat and his wallet (which was in his coat), it did not take long to gather them. As it wasn’t an overly large injury they did not give him an IV so Thranduil was able to get up easily. Bard wordlessly helped him into his coat.

While Thranduil signed out and received instructions, Bard went and pulled the truck around. It wasn’t parked far away, however, in the cold weather it meant that the heater had just started working when Thranduil climbed in.

“Thank you again for driving me.” Thranduil said once buckled in.

“You’re welcome.”

“Let me give you money for gas.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, really.”

“Listen, it’s what I’d hope someone would do for me in the same situation,  
reversed. It’s fine. I can’t take your money.”

Thranduil did not think it was fine, but knew that Bard would not let it go. “If you’re sure.”

“Positive. Do you need to stop anywhere to pick up a prescription?”

“I doubt there is anywhere open. Besides, the hospital gave me what I need.” He ran his hand over the bottle in his pocket.

“Yeah, I don’t know where we’d pick it up from either.” Bard gave an awkward laugh. Thranduil messed with the radio dials. “How’s your hand feel?”

“Numb.”

“That sucks.”

“It will be worse when I can feel something, I imagine.”

“True.”

They continued with the small talk for the rest of the ride. Thranduil messed with the radio most of the way too. He never turned it up and wasn’t using it to ignore Bard, just flipped through the stations. It didn’t particularly bother Bard, so he didn’t say anything. As Bard hit the blinker for their road a question came to him.

“So, why’d they want to make sure you had a ride home?” Bard asked, “If you don’t mind my asking.”  
“I don’t mind,” Thranduil waved, “Some of the stitches are awkwardly placed. If I gripped the wheel or tried to take a turn I’d be at risk to tear them. And they gave me some painkillers.”

“Makes sense. So, no driving until they come out?”

“No. Luckily, only a few days.” Thranduil thought for a moment, “I ought to be driving by Wednesday, Thursday at the latest. If everything heals well that is.”

“If you need a ride somewhere… I have to work, but when I’m not working…”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you. I can call a cab.”

“Cabs are expensive out here.”

Thranduil smirked a bit, “Thank you, but I think I’ll be fine.” Bard pulled into the extravagant cabin’s driveway. The sun was starting to peak up from behind the trees. The sky was orange streaked and the same shade blue as Bard’s favorite pair of jeans.

“We were supposed to have supper today.” Bard blurted out. “If you want, we still can. Depending on how you feel.” He shrugged, trying to play it off, “I don’t imagine you’ll be in any mood to cook.”

“Neither do I. Would you mind if I called you about it later?” Thranduil got out of the truck and closed the door behind him. Bard rolled down the passenger window, “I’ve had a long evening, and I’d like to get some sleep.”

“Of course. I should probably do the same.”

Thranduil started towards his door but then stopped and looked over his shoulder.

“Good morning, Bard Bowman.”

“Good morning, Thranduil Oropherison.” A wistful and tired smile crossed Bard’s face and he backed into his driveway.


End file.
